


On His Lonesome

by Azillawn



Category: Rumble Fish - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Angst, Drunkenness, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Other, Short One Shot, rusty-james is...........sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azillawn/pseuds/Azillawn
Summary: Maybe, had he done things differently, he’d be talking to his brother rather than himself.





	On His Lonesome

Soft beams of white moonlight and the gentle yellow hue of streetlights was all the street had to offer that night. Stars twinkled above, the occasional dull flash of white helping the moon along with lighting up the night. Perhaps, if they were living, they’d believe they did a decent job at keeping the roads light enough for the human eye could see - but down on Earth, it meant nothing. Their work went unnoticed and unappreciated, and Rusty-James didn’t believe they deserved any sort of appreciation.

They did _nothing_ , and Rusty-James did nothing as well.

Cold wisps of wind blew right by the brunette, the temperature brushing against the tip of his numb, reddened nose and just below his deep brown eyes. Although, that was what he had wished to blame it upon, yet as he stumbled and slurred in his condition, Rusty-James found it more difficult than it should have been to blame something lifeless for his own misfortune. For his own mistake. Was it his own mistake? The young boy supposed there was a high chance of such, and therefore, he heaved every single ounce of blame onto his intoxicated self. His intoxicated self, whom sat alone out in the middle of the night with a bottle of stomach-churning alcohol as his only companion.

He didn’t have many left, that was for sure. Rusty-James chuckled softly at the thought of his dwindling relationships. The tips of his fingers gently and slowly circled around the top of the cold bottle, a finger occasionally slipping and lazily running down the bottle. So much bloodshed. So many broken relationships. So many things he would never get back. Had he been more careful, maybe he would still have his friends. Maybe he’d still have his family, or what was left of it. He held onto them by a thread before, yet he deemed it better than losing them forever. Now he had, and it drove Rusty insane. He wasn’t crazy, though. He had thought he wasn’t, but as seconds went by and he rolled around in his intoxicated state of mind, he began to question that what he believed to be a reality was entirely false. Perhaps he was crazy. A large, harsh grin quickly made way to the brunette’s face as he laughed loudly into the night air at the thought. However, as his fingers wrapped around the top of the bottle of alcohol, it was quick to fade, as though the expression had never existed. He raised the bottle above his head and smashed it down onto the sidewalk he sat upon, the pieces of glass shattering upon hitting the sidewalk. His attention would flicker to watch the few tiny pieces that would bounce and land right at the side of the road to where he could no longer see them without having to stand and sway.

“I hate you, you know that,” Rusty-James slurred, the tiniest hint of a hiccup hidden in his soft voice from the consumption of the burn-throat liquid. He swallowed heavily, a tiny shudder running up his spine. “I really hate you. I hate you with every ounce a’myself. I hate you more than anybody else.”

“...Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” 

Rusty-James wished he hadn’t thrown the bottle to the ground. Had he not, he could continue the row of swings to his mouth and suffer under the burning of his throat and the slide of the disgusting liquid. He needed it. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here talking to himself had he not discarded the bottle of his father’s alcohol.

Maybe, had he done things differently, he’d be talking to his brother rather than himself.

“I ‘dunno.”

**Author's Note:**

> rumble fish makes me emo this has been a psa,


End file.
